Stripped
by Liathwen
Summary: Molly gets a surprise for her birthday, courtesy of one Mary Watson.


**Thanks to miz-joely and benedictedcumberbatched for edits and feedback on this.**

**This is a gift to thenewjefferson on tumblr in honor of her birthday. Hope you like it hun!**

* * *

"Mary, I don't know if this is a good idea, I mean, can't we just stay in with a couple bottles of wine and watch movies?" The brunette glanced around as they got out of the cab, as if she half-expected to see someone she knew.

The petite blonde climbed out of the cab after her and grinned mischievously. "Nonsense Molly! It's your birthday! We have to celebrate!" She cocked a brow at the establishment in front of them and bit her lip. "Besides, we haven't been able to spend as much time together since I had Isabel and I'm dying to get out." She stuck her bottom lip out and gave Molly big pouty eyes. "Do it for me?"

Molly sighed and smiled ruefully. "That's not nice," she muttered, bumping her hip into Mary's as she linked arms with her. "Okay, okay, just for you. I can't believe that you want to go to a strip club of all places. Why not a karaoke bar or something?"

"It's not just any strip bar, Molly. It's a MALE strip bar. It's for us girls to enjoy." She winked at Molly. "Besides," she began, "I've been saving up, there's no way we're not going in." Mary popped open her clutch and showed Molly a roll of fivers, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Molly sighed again and shrugged, allowing the laughing blonde to pull her into the sketchy looking strip bar.

* * *

Three drinks in and Molly was starting to loosen up, even openly admiring some of the scantily clad male dancers. They were quite muscular though, and Molly couldn't help but think that she erred more towards leaner men in her own preference. She could appreciate a good body though and soon was whistling when a particularly attractive one walked past their two-seater table.

Mary was giggling and pointing out the ones she thought Molly should get up and go closer to. Molly declined, shaking her head and giggling, the alcohol fogging her mind and heating her blood. A sudden shout from the bar caught their attention and the girls sat up straighter as women flocked to stand in front of the counter. Looking at each other, perplexed, they both craned their necks to see what was causing the commotion. They didn't wonder for long as they soon saw bottles of liquor being tossed into the air from behind the bar.

"Ooo flair bartending!" Molly shouted excitedly. Seeing the bartenders in a flair bar in America had been the highlight of her trip there years ago. She stood on the foot bar of her stool to get a better view over the crowd but only caught glimpses of the man behind the bar. He was tall, his bare torso glistening with sweat, the muscles rippling in his lean form. A flash of curly brown hair and Molly blushed, reminded of a certain consulting detective. The ensuing mental image of Sherlock casually tossing bottles in the air and deftly catching them had Molly plopping back down onto her stool and slamming down one of the shots that rested on the table. Mary shot her an amused grin and Molly blushed again.

The act was soon over, and Mary headed to the bar for another round. Molly saw her talk to one of the dancers, but didn't think anything of it, assuming that the blonde was simply doing a bit of harmless flirting. She knew that Mary was blissfully happy with John and that the night was really for Molly, though Mary could definitely appreciate the toned bodies of the dancers. Mary came back to the table with shots and a smug grin.

"What have you done?!" Molly cried, equal parts embarrassed, curious, and terrified.

Mary said nothing, only lifting her glass in the air to clink it against Molly's. "Drink up, birthday girl!" she shouted over the loud music of a routine.

Molly blushed, but soon forgot the incident, mesmerized by the intricate routine of one dancer who was using long strips of material hung from the ceiling to lift himself off the ground and twirl about the stage.

She jumped, yelping in surprise when cold fingers suddenly trailed along her exposed upper back. Turning her head to tell the man that she didn't really care for a lap dance, she came face to face with bright blue eyes and curly brown hair. Her eyes widened in shock as Sherlock looked back at her, his face reminding her of a deer in headlights. A glance down to his bare chest and faded, ripped jeans had her clasping her hands to her mouth as she realized that her salacious thoughts of him flairing earlier had been right on target.

He _had_ been the performer.

She pressed her thighs together subtly and gave him a timid smile. He simply stared at her for a moment, and she was reminded of John's description of Sherlock's "buffering face." Sherlock seemed to process things quickly though, and the shock on his face was replaced by a frown as his eyes flitted to Mary, who was giggling uncontrollably.

"You!" he accused, pointing a finger at her. "You planned this!"

She gasped for air, nodding and laughing even louder, tears dotting the corners of her eyes as she fanned herself.

"John…" Sherlock growled angrily. "He told you I'd be here."

Molly gaped at him and he seemed to remember that he was wearing next to nothing. Sherlock turned an alarming shade of pink and took a step back from his position quite close to Molly.

"I, uh," he stammered, looking around at everything except the petite brunette in front of him. He said something that Molly didn't catch over the music and she gave him a blank stare. Sherlock flushed again and leaned close to her, his lips brushing her ear to ensure that she could hear him over the appallingly loud music. "It's for a case," he said hurriedly. "It's um, a drugs bust. Of a sort. Well, not really. I didn't realize it was you. I, wait, what are you wearing?"

Molly bristled. She was dressed in one of her favorite outfits, a strapless light pink dress that was fitted to her waist and flared from there to end just above her knee. It was warm so she'd only worn sandals with it, but she thought she looked pretty when she left her house. She tilted her head up to speak into his ear.

"A dress, Sherlock. Just because you always see me in work attire or my pajamas doesn't mean that I don't own pretty clothes," she huffed at him, smoothing the material over her knees.

"I uhm, I know Molly. I just, I was surprised, is all." He had the good sense to attempt to look contrite, though Molly wasn't fooled.

She nodded slowly, darting a glance over to Mary, who had calmed considerably, but still sported a shit-eating grin, her eyes dancing with mischief. The blonde cleared her throat.

"I think I ordered a lap dance for the birthday girl," she said, her grin widening as Molly and Sherlock stared at her in horror. She motioned to Molly's lap with both hands, indicating that Sherlock should commence with the festivities, so to speak. Sherlock didn't move from his spot at Molly's side, but straightened up, scowling at Mary all the while.

"I don't know what you think you'll accomplish here besides embarrassing my pathologist," he growled, glaring daggers at Mary, who was smirking at him.

"Oh, well if that's the case I suppose someone else could give her the dance. It doesn't have to be you, Sherlock." She pointed at a gorgeous specimen of a man on the other side of them. "He'd do. Go get him to come over here then if you don't want to do it."

Sherlock's eyes darted over to the man, and he stiffened. "He's all wrong for her. Molly likes tall and lean with brown hair and blue…" he trailed off, a slight blush covering his cheeks. For her part, Molly kept her gaze on her lap, knowing her cheeks were crimson.

"I'm sure she can deal with him. He's pretty hot, isn't he Molly?"

Molly furtively glanced over at the man, her eyes widening as she caught sight of him. He was definitely a sexy one, with perfect muscle definition and messy dirty blonde hair. She gulped and nodded slightly.

Sherlock made an annoyed sound in his throat, hunching down next to her again. "Fine," he snapped, suddenly reaching out to grab her hand. "But I'm taking her into the back so you aren't there staring." He pulled a surprised Molly to her feet and began dragging her towards a curtain. Molly threw a terrified look over her shoulder to see Mary looking as smug as the cat who ate the cream just before the curtain closed behind them, blocking the front room from view.

* * *

Sherlock led her by the hand through a dark hall, where Molly heard moans coming from behind many closed doors. Her eyes widened as a particularly orgasmic sounding one rang out.

"Sherlock! What kind of club is this?!" she hissed incredulously, trying to keep her eyes off of his arse in the ridiculously tight jeans he wore, the only item of clothing on his body. He turned to glance at her over his shoulder, a thin smile gracing his lips.

"Why do you think I'm here Molly?"

She gulped at that, wondering if he'd taken part in any of the things that were undoubtedly going on behind the closed doors.

_Of course not Molly. He's asexual isn't he? He'd figure out how to avoid those things._

He arrived at a door and opened it, pulling her inside the small room before shutting it behind them. There was a sumptuous looking couch along one wall and an assortment of whips, floggers, and paddles hanging on the other wall. Molly pressed her thighs together to tamp down the flair of arousal at the sight, and Sherlock smiled that small smile again.

"See something you like?" he asked, his voice lower than it had been previously. Molly glanced at him, before sitting primly on the couch.

"How long do these normally take?" she asked. His brow furrowed in confusion and she clarified. "I mean lap dances. Mary will know if we don't stay here long enough. So how long would it take if we were really doing this?"

Sherlock frowned at her and seemed almost to pout. "You don't want it then?" he asked, trying to seem indifferent, but Molly picked up on his tells that he was nervous. It was her turn to be confused.

"I thought we were just faking it to appease Mary," she said slowly.

"Well is that what you want to do?" he responded, before his eyes lit up. He sauntered over to the wall, selecting a black riding crop almost identical to the one he sometimes used in the morgue. He plucked it from its nail and turned to her, bringing up the tip to run it along her exposed collarbone. "Or do you want something else?"

Molly gulped, crossing her legs to alleviate the ache in her core.

"You can't be serious," she whispered, almost desperately.

He grinned at her, his expression almost smug.

"Oh Molly, you have no idea how many times I've thought about what I'd do with you if I had you in this room. Only you, I wouldn't take anyone else. Only you, always you."

He trailed the crop down her neck to the crease between her breasts, pushing the top of her dress down with it. His eyes darkened and he pulled it back.

"Take it off," he growled, his pupils dilating rapidly. Molly stared at him for a brief second before making up her mind. If she was dreaming, then this was by far the best dream she'd ever had. If she wasn't well, she'd deal with the fallout later. It was her birthday and by God, she was going to enjoy it.

With that thought in mind, she stood and turned her back to him. "Get my zip?" she asked softly, her voice slightly breathless. She'd barely finished speaking before she felt his large hands grasping her dress and slowly lowering the zip. She shimmied out of the garment, and laid it neatly on the couch next to her, leaving her clad only in knickers and sandals, as the low cut of the dress wasn't conducive to wearing a bra. She kept her back to him, delicately placing one sandaled foot onto the edge of the couch, bending at the waist to unbuckle it and slide it off. She repeated the action with the other foot and heard his sharp intake of breath. Mentally bracing herself, Molly turned around to face Sherlock.

She was taken aback by the hunger she saw in his eyes as his gaze raked her body. He arched a brow and grinned ferally, showing his teeth almost in a snarl-like expression. Ducking forward, he licked one nipple experimentally, taking it into his mouth after hearing her pleased gasp. Sherlock alternately sucked and nipped at her breast, before switching to the other, his hand coming up to pleasure the one his mouth wasn't currently occupying. Molly sank her fingers into his hair, holding him to her chest as she squirmed and moaned. Sherlock pulled back and stared at her, pupils blown. He took a step back, straightening up, and twirled his finger in the air, silently commanding her to spin. She obeyed, giving a slow turn, and his hands on her waist stopped her with her back to him. She shuddered, his large hands nearly meeting in front of her. He pressed himself against her back, his clothed lower body an erotic feeling against her bare skin.

"There's a delightful American concept known as the birthday spanking," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. Molly moaned pushing her arse against his burgeoning erection, and he growled at her, nipping her ear lobe with his teeth. "None of that," he warned, placing his hand in the middle of her back.

He pushed her into a bending position with her hands on the couch and her arse pushed out towards him. He ran his hands over the soft curve of her bum before bringing the crop up and running it along the material of the thong, following the cleft of her arse down to her pussy and back up. Molly pushed back against it and he chuckled.

"One for each year should do it," he said thoughtfully, before bringing the crop down on her arse cheek, making her yelp and jump slightly. "Count," he commanded roughly, and Molly swallowed thickly before replying quietly.

"One," she said in a tone just higher than a whisper.

"Louder," Sherlock said, bringing the crop down again.

"Two," she moaned out, feeling the dampness in her cunt grow with each strike.

He began raining sharp licks down on her in quick succession and she could barely keep up with her counting as her breathing quickened with his.

"Twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, oh Sherlock!" she cried out as he paused to push the material of her knickers aside, roughly thrusting two fingers into her dripping pussy. He ran his other hand across her arse, lightly rubbing her abused flesh.

"Mmmm, it seems that my little pathologist is enjoying herself," he panted, before pulling his hands away from her. Molly moaned, her cunt aching to be filled. Another hit had her jumping, but she quickly resettled and began to count again.

The last few blows were lighter, but centered on the lower cleft of her arse, dangerously close to her pussy. Molly was panting and rolling her hips by the time he finished with her spanking, and she whimpered with each breath.

"Stay there," Sherlock said, and she heard a zip, followed by the sound of crinkling foil. Before she could prepare herself, he dragged her knickers to the side and filled her in one smooth motion. Molly screamed her pleasure aloud as he entered her, stopping to let them both adjust to the sensation. Sherlock let out a low groan as Molly pushed back against him impatiently, and his hands settled on her hips as he pulled back out completely, before thrusting back in. He teased her like that several times and Molly thought she would go insane from sheer want.

"God, please Sherlock, please just fuck me!" she whimpered, her voice cracking. She heard him chuckle before he suddenly began thrusting into her furiously, his pace hard and fast, and hitting all the right places inside her. Molly widened her stance and pushed back against him, desperate to sate the need within her. Sherlock groaned loudly as he fucked her, and soon was whispering praise and filthy things that he wanted to do to her.

"Christ, yes Molly, I want you so bad," he moaned out. "I want to fuck you so hard, I want to tie you to my bed and take you over and over every way possible. You on top of me, bouncing on my cock, or on your back, your legs around me. Every way, every way. I won't let you out of bed for a week, you'd love that, wouldn't you? God yes, fuck Molly!"

He sped up, their skin slapping together, his fingers leaving bruises in the flesh of her hips. He pressed her down into the couch, her whole torso resting on it as he bent himself over her back, his clever fingers twisting her nipple between them, coaxing it into a hard peak. Molly shuddered, on the brink of her orgasm, and suddenly, she felt him sink his teeth into her neck, marking her skin with his mouth. With a scream that vaguely sounded like his name, Molly came hard, her cunt tightening around his cock as he roared out, thrusting a half dozen more times before he too reached his peak.

They lay like that, his body pressing her into the couch, for several minutes, catching their breath.

"Happy birthday Molly," Sherlock whispered, before pulling back, and removing the condom, tying it off and putting it in the pocket of his trousers.

He shrugged a tee shirt on as Molly straightened, and turned to face him. She raised a brow at him, glaring pointedly at his jeans pocket. He glanced down and blushed. "I uh, I shouldn't leave this here. Lestrade is planning to bust the illegal part of this business tonight and if Anderson isn't a total idiot, which he usually is, they'll think to test for DNA in the bins."

Molly nodded, flushing at the thought of anyone somehow discovering their tryst. She watched him for a second, noting that besides the flush of his cheeks and tousled curls, he looked much the same as he did when they entered the room. She tried in vain to tame her hair, and reached for her dress, a blush heating her cheeks as reality sunk in, and with it the realization that she'd just hooked up in the back of a strip bar with Sherlock Holmes.

He waited silently while she dressed, observing her, and held his hand out to her when she finished. She took it hesitantly, her eyes widening when he brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss onto the back of it.

"Baker Street?" he asked, and Molly looked at him, perplexed.

She cleared her throat. "Oh I, um, I didn't know if you'd, well you don't really do _this,_ do you?" she asked, trying her best to keep her utter heartbreak from being apparent in her voice. She knew, knew that Sherlock didn't do sentiment, didn't do relationships.

"And you didn't think I did sex until a half hour ago either, so it'd do you good to keep an open mind, Hooper," he said disapprovingly. He smiled a moment later though, and drew her close, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Truth is, I've been wanting to tell you something for a while," he admitted, looking sheepish. "Mary figured it out long ago and I suppose tonight was her way of taking matters into her own hands. So, well, the thing is, Molly," he paused, licking his lips. "I um, I care for you. Deeply. I suppose normal people would call it love." He paused again, clearly thinking over what he was saying. "Yes, yes I'd call it love. I love you Molly."

She gaped at him, until he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. She closed her eyes as he deepened it, passionately embracing her until they had to break for oxygen. She'd always been able to tell when Sherlock was lying, and he was most definitely not now.

"I realize I might not have gone about this in the right way, but I'll prove it to you if you allow me to. And right now, I'd very much like to take you back to Baker Street and get started on shagging you in all those ways I mentioned," he finished with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Molly grinned and hooked her arm through his. "All right, Mr. Holmes," she said. "Let's go."

* * *

Mary had just unlocked the door to her flat when her phone chimed. She opened the picture message and grinned as the image of Sherlock and Molly looking thoroughly debauched popped up along with a caption.

**You win this round Watson.**


End file.
